


Meeting the Parents

by aseriesofolafevents



Series: The Disaster Family [2]
Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asriel does not react well lol, Marisa is lowkey jealous, Time Skips, Will is Confused, and Marisa and Asriel are married?, like very, lyra is older, lyra is so sarcastic oh god she gets it from her parents, ok but I couldn't help myself again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22217155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aseriesofolafevents/pseuds/aseriesofolafevents
Summary: In which Lyra has a date, Asriel isn't impressed and Will is exposed to Belacqula life.ORThe one where Will meet's Lyra's parents.
Relationships: Lord Asriel & Lyra Belacqua, Lord Asriel/Marisa Coulter, Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter, Lyra Belacqua/Will Parry
Series: The Disaster Family [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599304
Comments: 2
Kudos: 175





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi ok so a little background to this: it's set in an alternate universe where Marisa and Asriel keep Lyra after Edward's death and raise her together and it's kind of a continuation of my first HDM fic 'Christmas Morning' but basically it's all part of a series of little anecdotes of their lives together with time jumps and stuff and yeah. So Lyra is sixteen and Will is part of their world basically. Kudos and comments are always welcome!

Lyra pushed the brush through her already silky hair, trying to ignore the slight tremble of her hand as her eyes flitted to the clock for what felt like the fiftieth time. Her breathing was slightly uneasy as she leant further into her vanity, examining her face for any unflattering marks or blemishes, pausing slightly to admire the winged eyeliner which defined her blue eyes. She didn’t usually wear makeup. But then again, she didn’t usually go out on dates.

Her stomach flipped at the thought of it. A date. With a boy. Not just any old boy either. Will Parry. Her stomach did another unnecessary lurch and she placed a hand on the dressing table to steady herself. She was nervous, that was true. It wasn’t their first date (in fact, she was starting to lose count), but that wretched boy always made her feel a type of way, she wasn’t used to. At first, these feelings had made her feel uncomfortable, as though an imposter had taken hold of her body, but, after a while, she’d grown accustomed to the sense of longing that filled her whenever he was around and grew whenever they were apart. She liked him, a lot.

She stood up, her eyes relentlessly travelling over to the clock above her bed once more as she walked over to the window. Will was picking her up at eight. Around the corner of course because it wouldn’t do for her parents to see him. It was now a quarter to. As much as she was desperate to see him, after a week of being apart, being early or even on time would betray an eagerness which she wasn’t quite ready for him to see yet, worried that it would leave her vulnerable. She might have liked him, but Lyra Belacqula was cautious in matters of affection and she was determined that Will Parry would not break her heart. Because she wasn’t sure she could take it.

Trying to find something to do, she picked up a discarded book on the side of the bed and flopped down, careful not to crease her dress, a long sleeved lilac mini dress her mother had gotten her for the summer. It was difficult to concentrate on the words, when all she kept thinking of was Will and his dark messy hair, which could never sit neat and his hazel eyes which seemed like pools of melted chocolate which she could drown in and his lips, thank god for Will Parry’s lips which-

She snapped her book shut, sitting up straight and pouted. Time was going by too slow. Picking up her coat, even though the summer night was still warm, she thought it best to begin walking now. It wouldn’t do to be too late. He might think she had forgotten.

**********************************************

Downstairs, Marisa Belacqula sat, perfectly content, absorbed in her book on magnetics, a tall glass of wine within fingertips reach and a roaring fire opposite her, just far enough away that she could try to ignore it. Despite the warm summer’s evening, her husband had insisted that a fire should be lit, as he always did. Even here in Oxford that damn man couldn’t get the North’s chill out of his bones.

Her eyes drifted over to where said husband was, lazily flopped onto the biggest armchair, closest to the fire, his eyes furiously moving across the pages of his books. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at how bloody casual he looked, totally comfortable with his surroundings in a way only Asriel could be, his confidence creating a force field around him which seemingly made him untouchable. She watched as he flipped a page in his book, rubbing his chin as he always did when he read something he didn’t quite agree with. Her fingers fastened on her glass of wine, tipping it into her mouth as she felt a warmth surge through her, finally noticing their daemons curled together in the corner. It was ironically, domestic, all of this; something which, even after almost seventeen years, she had yet to get used to.  
“I can feel you watching me, you know.” Asriel drawled, his eyes not leaving his book, yet a smirk arising on his lips.  
“I’m not watching you.” Marisa retorted, her lips curling. “I’m deeply, deeply absorbed in my book.” She took another sip of wine, watching his inner conflict of whether to look up or whether to carry on pretending to be uninterested. He went with the former.  
“I saw you.” Asriel pressed. “It looked like you were deeply, deeply absorbed in me.” He grinned then, which infuriated her.  
She raised an eyebrow. “You lie.” She lied.  
Asriel’s grin only spread across his face earlier as his forcefield of arrogance seemed to grow larger. “What are you going to do about it?”  
She was just about to do something about it, namely walk across the room and kiss that stupid grin off his face and get him to shut up, when she heard Lyra’s delicate footsteps come down the stairs, in a manner which could only be described as creeping.

Her eyes snapped to the open door, which looked onto the entrance hallway as she saw Lyra, who was most definitely moving with the intention of not being seen, her hands on the door.  
“Lyra!” She called her eyes narrowing, as Lyra jumped slightly, turning to face her mother. “Where are you going, my sweet?”  
She was confused. Lyra went out a fair bit, especially during the school holidays, when she was out most days and some evenings, meeting Roger or her girlfriends and doing goodness knows what. But she rarely went out without telling her parents, or without wanting to be seen. Asriel, however, was uninterested, already finding his way back to his book.  
“Out.” Lyra replied with a touch of stubborness. “For dinner.”  
Marisa noticed her obsitance, saw the defiance in her eyes and narrowed her eyes further. She tilted her head to the side and smiled as sweetly as she could.  
“Come and give me a kiss before you go.” She insisted, watching as Lyra hesitated slightly, before complying, almost dragging herself across the room before she arrived at Marisa’s side. Her mother could see the smile on her face was fake, in a way that only mother’s can and so tapped her cheek, her grin extending across her face.  
Lyra bent down and kissed her mother, her face tilting to the side but not before her mother could see it and smell the elegant scent which drifted from her daughter’s neck.  
“Ah!” She exclaimed, eyes gleaming with triumph as a warmth coloured Lyra’s cheeks. “You’re wearing makeup AND my perfume!” Her eyes flitted across her daughter’s body, widening slightly. “And a dress! You never go out in dresses.”  
Lyra shrugged, careful to avoid Marisa’s eyes. “I wanted to look nice since I’m going out for dinner.”  
Marisa leant in closer, pondering something she hadn’t before. “With whom Lyra?”  
Her voice was cherry liqueur, laced with poison; sickly sweet with a bitter twist at the end. Lyra’s eyes dropped to her feet.  
“A boy.”  
Marisa’s jaw almost dropped, her eyes practically bulging out of her skull as her grip on her glasses. tightened, knuckles whitening. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Asriel react similarly to her, head snapping up to look at Lyra.  
‘A boy?” He demanded, slamming his book shut, as Marisa struggled to find her tongue. “Why on earth would you be going for dinner with a boy.”  
Lyra seemed to grow impatient at this, brows furrowing as she turned to look at her Father. “It’s called a date.”  
Marisa thought she was dreaming. Lyra. Her daughter. On a date. How could she have missed this?  
“A date?” Asriel’s voice was becoming louder as Marisa refused to relinquish her hold on the glass. “You’re too young to date. Children don’t date.”  
“I’m sixteen, Father.” Lyra snapped, arms crossed against her chest and chin tilting as she matched his confidence. “I’m practically a woman.”  
Asriel barked a laugh. “A woman?” He turned to Marisa who blinked, her brain processing. “Marisa, what do you have to say about this?”  
A pause. Marisa took a long sip of wine, before exhaling loudly. On one hand, she hated this wretched boy and whatever his intentions with her daughter, fearing that he would try and whisk her away from them and that she would lose Lyra. But on the other hand…  
“Well, she is sixteen, Asriel.” She replied, her voice coming out a lot more steady than she had expected to, as she noticed that her glass was drained. She gave a small cough. “There’s not a lot we can do.”  
Lyra’s eyes widened, looking at her mother in surprise, obviously blindsided by her support. Asriel, on the other hand looked furious. Marisa ignored this, she could deal with him later.  
“What’s his name?” She demanded, wishing to know exactly who her daughter was mixing with.  
“Will Parry.”  
“I’ve never heard his name before, is he new to Oxford?”  
“He ain't from around here.”  
“Isn’t. Where did you meet him?”  
“At the Spring Ball at Jordan college that I attended with you. He’s been taken on by a scholar there because he’s hoping to study at Jordan’s next year.”  
“How long have you been seeing him?”  
“Three months, a week and four days.”  
Marisa blinked, in disbelief that her daughter could have hidden this for three whole months. She sighed, suddenly feeling the need for a cigarette. Her daemon had grown closer to her and she hadn’t noticed, jumping slightly as he brushed his fur against her legs in comfort. Lyra shifted uncomfortably on the spot.  
“Listen Mother,” She started but Marisa intercepted her, knowing what was coming next.  
“Yes, run along.” Nodding towards the door as Lyra practically fled from the room at her words, grabbing her bag on the side as she swung the door open in a fury. A thought occurred to Marisa.  
“Be back by eleven!” She cried as the door closed with a slam and her demeanour dropped, fingers reaching up to brush her temple. She risked a glance at her husband who stared at her, silently seething. Raising to her feet, she rolled her eyes in return to his cold look.  
“Don’t start.” She held up a hand to stop any comments from tumbling from his parted lips. “I need wine and a smoke, not a lecture from you.” With those words, she sauntered from the room, wondering just how many bottles were left in the cellar.

**********************************************

At five to eleven that evening, Lyra Belacuqula could have been seen practically skipping down the driveway, drunk on the feeling of Will Parry’s hand in hers and as her heart beat wildly in her chest. It had been a good evening... no, a great one, but this came as no surprise since evenings with Will always were the highlight of her week. Pan ran alongside her, the pine marten darting between her legs in a gleeful manner. She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand as she slipped her key into the door, dreaming of nothing more than to make herself a mug of warm milk and tumble into bed, feeling exhausted with the emotional rollercoaster that the evening had taken her on.

She pushed the door open quietly, hoping to dear God that her parents were in bed and not fighting over their conflicted views on her dating situation or worse, waiting up to scold her. What she wasn’t expecting to hear when she slipped inside, hanging her coat up on the rail, was the soft soundings of her father’s record player filling the house as warm firelight leaked through the closed door to the living room. Perhaps what surprised her the most however, was the giggle that sounded through the door, muffled but unmistakenable as her mother’s, who did not often giggle. 

Confused and rather on edge, Lyra pushed open the door to the living room, eyes adjusting to the bright firelight as she frowned, an amusingly rare sight befalling her eyes. Her mother, hair askew and cheeks rosy red, was perched upon her father’s lap, laughing into his neck as he gripped her waist, whispering something into her ear, as his other hand was lost in her hair. Lyra pulled a face as her eyes drifted to the three bottles of wine and half finished tokay that sat on the coffee table. There was her answer.

Her mother looked up as she entered the room, her facing breaking into a gleeful smile as she beckoned her over, gesturing for her to sit opposite them, which Lyra did hesitantly, fearing that she was Icarus, drifting too close to the sun, yet neverthless taking a seat.  
“Lyra.” Her mother said, her voice as serious as she could manage. “We want to meet Bill.”  
“Will.” Lyra corrected, a wave of annoyance flooding over her. Her mother didn’t get drunk, not like this. It made her almost miss the strict, uptight controlling mother she saw most of the time.  
“Will.” Marisa repeated as Asriel snorted. “We want him to come for dinner.”  
“You want him to-” Asriel tried to intervene, yet Marisa elbowed him, perhaps too harshly, in the stomach. He closed his mouth and said no more.  
Lyra frowned, wanting nothing more than to escape to her room. There was a good chance her parents wouldn’t remember this in the morning anyhow. So she smiled.  
“How’s this Friday?” She asked, her voice not dissimilar to her mother’s cherry liquer signature.  
Marisa clapped her hands together, glee filling her face. “Brilliant.” She grabbed her daughter’s hand and pulled her in for a bone-crushing hug, a rare sign of affection. “Oh I love you, darling.” She hiccuped, as Lyra slipped free of her grasp.  
“Love you too, Mother.” She grimaced, nodding to her father as she slipped out of the room, delighted to be free, content with the knowledge that her parents would have forgotten by the morning and all would be right in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marisa bargains, Will lets slip and Lyra grovels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so long ah I just wasn't overly happy with it and I'm still not 100 percent but oh well I tried eek. Enjoy! comment and kudos welcome as always! X

Breakfast the next morning was a somber affair.

Lyra ate at one head of the table, her mother at the other, Lyra chewing her toast silently whilst her mother stared at a singular coffee, looking as though she would like to drown in it. Her Father was nowhere to be seen, probably stuffed up in his study, pouring over books to try and shift the dull ache in his head. Perhaps that was why Mother seemed so forlorn.  
Rising from the table, she thought of her plans for the day. A trip down to Jordan college would be nice, since the sun was shining and Wednesday’s were Roger’s day off, meaning they’d have the whole day to fall into mischief. She liked the sound of that. Her movement, however, seemed to snap her Mother out of whatever trance she was in, as she snapped her eyes up to face Lyra. Lyra gave an anxious smile, which Marisa returned, almost shyly.  
“Oh darling,” She leaned forward, her hands wrapping around the mug as her eyes sparkled with excitement as they quite often did whenever she was planning something big. Lyra swallowed nervously, bracing herself for what was to come next. “Does Will have any allergies?”  
She almost gasped, her mouth forming a very sizable ‘O’ as her heart sank to the bottom of her chest. Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, she pulled her mouth into a polite smile, thinking how foolish it was to think Mother would forget. Her Mother had a remarkable memory for anything which involved event planning.  
“No.” She replied, hoping that this was true since, in the three months she spent with Will, the topic of allergies had, perhaps surprisingly, never come up. “No, he doesn’t.”  
Marisa seemed to relax, leaning back in her chair with a slight exhale. “I cannot wait to meet him, Lyra.” A genuinity filled her voice as she spoke, making Lyra feel oddly touched. In fact, she thought lightly, her mother had reacted to this whole thing surprisingly well. The same, of course, could not have been said for her Father.  
Marisa must have noticed the small slip in her expression, as she hurried on. “Your Father will come around.” She insisted, reaching up to tuck a lone curl behind Lyra’s ear. “Leave him to me.” With a wink that felt like a dismissal, Marisa went back to scanning her newspaper and Lyra departed from the room, thinking of ways to try and make the prospect of meeting her parents any less terrifying.  
“Good luck with that.” Pan chuckled, darting between her legs and almost toppling her over as she ran up the stairs. She scowled. Daemons were so annoying.

**********************************************

It was even more annoying when, later that day, whilst telling Roger, he only tipped his head back and laughed, mouth exposing the half chewed ham sandwich in his hand.  
“It en’t funny.” She hissed, poking the laughing boy, who did not seem to stop. With a huff, she folded her arms, suddenly disinterested in her own sandwich and began tearing tufts of grass from the ground they sat on, as she often did when annoyed.  
“ ‘Tis.” Roger insisted, sitting up with a contented smirk on his face. “Your Dad is going to kill ‘im.” That seemed to spark another fit of laughter.  
Lyra rolled her eyes, standing up with a sigh. “Fine.” She raised an eyebrow defiantly. “I came here to ask for advice from my best friend. Not to be laughed at.” She began to storm off but Roger’s hand caught hers and pulled her back down onto the grass.  
“Don’t be like that Lyra.” He said as she tumbled back down beside him trying to hide her grin. “I’m just messing.”  
Lyra couldn’t help the grin that escaped from her lips.  
“What do you propose I do then?” She asked, helping herself to a grape branch, lazily. Roger sat back, his lips pursed in thought. Finally, he shrugged.  
“I guess there en’t much you can do. I mean Will was going to meet your parents at some point wasn’t he?”  
To this, Lyra groaned, burying her head in hands. “Preferably not.” She removed one finger from her face, allowing one eye to look at Roger, fearfully. “I’m so not getting out of this, am I?”  
“Nope.” The boy grinned, resting his hands on his stomach. “See us orphans don’t have this trouble.” His smugness was so unbearable, Lyra couldn’t help but quip back.  
“Or maybe you don’t have this trouble because you don’t have a boyfriend?” She waggled an eyebrow, daringly as Roger clutched his heart, mockingly hurt.  
“That’s because you saw Will Parry before me.” He accused, throwing a grape at her which landed on the floor with a toe curling squelch. “I can’t help it if there’s no Oxford boys up to my standards.”  
Lyra rolled her eyes. Maybe best friends were more annoying than daemons.

**********************************************

Marisa admired herself in the mirror, relishing the way the chosen red dress clung to her body, despite the years beginning to run fast. It was flattering in a way that suited the occasion; screaming ‘yes-i’m-the-mother-of-your-girlfriend-but-i-won’t-hesitate-to-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-bare-hands.’ In a highly elegant, sophisticated way, of course.  
She wasn’t exactly nervous to meet Will Parry (she had socialised with far more terrifying people then a seventeen year old hormonal youth), she was (even though she would never admit it aloud) far more nervous to see how Lyra interacted with him.  
It would not be an oversight to say that her and Lyra hadn’t been on the best of terms in the weeks that had prologued this event. In fact, that might have been a short undersight, considering the fiery argument that had broken out a mere week before. Marisa had gone to London, intending to stay a week and ended up staying three, leaving Lyra under the watchful care of Ma Costa, whilst Asriel was away researching for their latest project, the same project which had taken her to London to acquire funding. Perhaps, she might have admitted, it had been distasteful to be gone too long, leaving Lyra stuck in the slightly dull environment of Oxford, whilst she partied with socialites and dined with explorers. Yet, her return home had been far from the warm, loving event she had expected. Instead she had found Lyra to be even more rebellious than usual, even going as far as to refer to her as ‘Marisa’, rather than ‘Mother’ and choosing to spend every second of her free time in the company of Ma Costa. Marisa’s stomach bubbled with jealousy at the mere thought. The way that Asriel and Lyra spoke of Ma Costa were as if she was the damn Incarnate himself and it made her toes curl. 

Coming home had made Marisa realise something that she had been choosing to turn a blind eye to for the previous months, something which had almost snuck into the house in the dark and was manifesting, bigger and bigger by the minute. Lyra was no longer a child. She was sixteen, two years away from the age that Marisa had left home and less than four since she had been first betrothed and married. The idea of Lyra falling prey to men such as Edward Coulter made her chest tighten, her hands curling into tiny fists so hard that it was bound to leave marks. Marks which Asriel would surely not miss. She tried to relax. But images of Lyra leaving her, without looking back, gave her no calm. Perhaps that was why she had gone along with this whole affair sweetly. Better to keep enemies (potential Lyra-stealers such as this Parry boy) close. It wouldn’t do to disapprove of him. In fact, she was almost positive it would only drive Lyra further into his clutches. She might not be Ma Costa, but she knew her daughter like she knew the workings of a clock. It was in fact her womb that had held host to Lyra’s unborn foetus. Not Ma Costa’s.

She snuck a glance at her husband, currently fumbling with his bow-tie in his own mirror, wearing a mask of unmistakable irritation and resentment, his anger growing with every attempt to tie a bow around his neck. She sighed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes, drumming her fingers on her hips. Acting as though she was complicit in this relationship was no good if Asriel was going to storm around the place, looking as though he was planning on murdering the boy. Asriel’s dislike of Will would most likely entice Lyra more than Marisa’s ever could. She frowned. Something had to be done.  
Asriel didn’t exactly jump at her touch, her hand pushing on his shoulder blades but she felt him tense slightly, smirking at her ability to surprise him. He remained rooted to the spot as she pressed a kiss to his neck. “Let me try, darling.” She cooed, her eyes joining his in the mirror. He almost pouted, giving in with a huff as he turned around, annoyed and yet amused by her games. Her eyes glinted as her hands set to work around his neck, easily creating the perfect knot around his neck.  
“You’re going to be charming, tonight.” She told him, her eyes never once leaving his as she worked. “You are going to greet him with grace and elegance and at the end of the evening Lyra is going to feel relieved and astounded that her parents are this..nice.”  
Asriel gave a subtle snort, raising an eyebrow back.  
“And what if I’m not...charming?” He dared ask, leaning in till he almost touched her nose. She bared her teeth in response, pulling sharply on the tie so that he gave a sharp intake of air.  
“You will be.” She said sweetly, offering no other alternative. Her hands slid away from his neck as she stepped back to inspect her handiwork. “So handsome.” Her mouth curled, tilting her head to the side as she watched him, tumbling over words in his mind in an attempt to quip back at her, a satisfactory smirk rising to her lips. She gave him a slight push so that she was now in front of him, closer to the mirror, as she started to clasp her earrings in place. Asriel, however, was persistent.  
“What’s in it for me?” He asked, just as calmly as she had spoken, yet, without even looking, Marisa knew the darker intentions that harboured on his features.  
“What do you mean Asriel?” She sounded innocent enough, refusing to remove her eyes from her own reflection, bending closer to the mirror to fasten her earrings. However, there was no denying a change in her heart rate, or the small lump that raised in her throat.  
He took a step closer to her, his hands sliding around her waist, his mouth tickling her ear. “I’m not just going to take it easy on the boy who is..” His grip tightened and Marisa could hear his protective paternal instincts leaking into his words. “Possibly defiling my daughter.” He finished, his lips curling with hatred for William Parry. Marisa saw her chance to distract. She flipped, so that she was now facing him, his hands still tight around her waist. “So. What’s in it for me?”  
“The chance to defile her mother.” Marisa whispered, leaning into him and she saw the way his attention flipped. Men were far too predictable. Still, his eyes boring into her made her question who this would really be a reward for: him or her. She gulped, trying to remain focused. “A chance which may come at a later point this evening. After-” She insisted, raising a finger to his lips which had made a dive towards her. “-Lyra is in bed. Happy and contented with how charming her parents were.” He made to move again but she wrestled free of his grip, arriving by the door with a triumphant smirk on her face. Stelmaria gave a displeased growl as Asriel looked infuriated, his eyes dancing with amusement.  
“Do we have a deal, Lord Belacqula?”

**********************************************

The doorbell sent a sharp thrill through Lyra’s body, causing her to jump up, surprising since she had never been a particularly jumpy girl.  
“I’ll get it.” She practically screamed, falling over herself in an attempt to reach the door before her parents, Pan panting beside her. Her mother would probably have scolded her for being so eager (Because “a man should always wait, if you give him everything he wants right away than he’ll become bored.”) but this was Will and even if Lyra was worried about him becoming bored she wouldn’t have been able to contain her eagerness, at least not whilst the door was shut and she was out of sight. Besides she’d seen her mother race to the door faster than she ever had when her father returned home from the North. Not that she’d ever say anything, of course.  
When she was outside the door, she hesitated long enough to recollect herself, pushing a strand of hair off her cheek as she caught her breath. She looked to Pan with a here goes nothing thought and a shrug of her shoulders and opened the door.  
Will stood outside, hair slightly tousled by the summer’s breeze and in the most formal clothes he could wrangle up. She gave him a quick smile before grabbing him by the wrist and yanking him inside the entrance hall.  
“You’re house is so nice.” Will said in awe, looking around at the grand marble ceiling and patterned floor. But this was no time for small talk, Lyra knew how nice Belacqua Manor was, she’d lived there her entire life.  
“I’m sorry for everything that is about to happen.” She said hurriedly, still clutching his hand and breathing hard, her eyes wide in frenzy. “They’re going to be weird and formal and my Father will probably be rude and they may even have some odd sex thing that makes you feel uncomfortable and I’m so sorry but-”  
“Lyra..” Will chuckled, grabbing her face to stop her from overthinking. She paused, frozen, her heart still hammering against her rib cage. He smiled. “Just breathe. It’s going to be fine.”  
Lyra nodded slowly as Will slid her hands away from her face, squeezing her hand gently. “You’re right.” She breathed, before gesturing to the sun lounge. “Well?”

William Parry didn’t look anything like what she had expected. It wasn’t that she had been expecting a short plump goblin-like creature with the word’s “Daughter Snatcher” tattooed across his chest exactly, but she hadn’t expected someone so...sweet-looking. At the very least, she had envisioned a townie boy, large and broad shouldered with a piercing here or there and a motorbike in tow. Will Parry seemed the opposite of this. He was tall and strongly built with dark eyes and unruly hair, his daemon, a large cat, slinking between his legs comfortably. On initial greeting he didn’t appear monstrous or conniving. But Marisa knew all too well herself that first appearances could be tragically deceiving.  
He was confident she learned, taking her hand with ease and yet not overtly so, managing to look bashful as she bestowed one of her charming smiles on him, releasing him so he could move to Asriel, who too seemed slightly surprised by Parry’s calm demeanor. Lyra, she noticed, flitted around with an air that was foreign to her daughter, acting almost anxious, a quality she had never noticed before.  
They had drinks in the sun lounge, as the last of the summer sun faded. Asriel barked questions at the boy, about his future and past, his ambitions, his achievements and his studies. Parry answered them with ease, stating in his interest in exploration, to which Asriel wrinkled his nose, seemingly challenged, before giving a begrudging nod of the head, finishing off with a “Good lad.”  
Marisa took this as her chance to intercept, asking him about his family and status, learning of his father’s death and his mother’s widowed life. By the sounds of it, his mother seemed lonely and half-mad, but she didn’t say these things aloud, merely pouted and cooed at the tale of his dead father. She asked of his previous relationships, to which he laughed and replied “None”, whilst Lyra shot her daggers, her eyes filled with poison which Marisa no doubt intended to kill her mother with. So, with a last sip of Tokay, Marisa insisted they moved to the dining room.  
In fact, Will Parry, dare she admit it, was not seeming too bad by the time they had finished their starters, though she was unsure if that was because of the last glass of wine. He was assured without being arrogant, intelligent, yet still asked questions with intrigue (questions which made Asriel’s face light up) and quiet without being boring. The fact he wanted to study at Oxford, was of course, an added bonus, meaning he wouldn’t be whisking Lyra off to some corner of Brytain, not that Lyra could have been whisked by anyone if she didn’t want to go of her own accord. In a strange way, Marisa found herself beginning to like the boy, learning to tolerate the secretive looks he and Lyra shared.  
It was at dessert, when things began to crumble slightly.  
Asriel was finishing off a short anecdote about an encounter with an armoured bear, a story which she had heard him tell a few too many times and was starting to grow tired of. She shot him a look of annoyance from across the table, which he either missed or chose to ignore or both. She gave a small, barely audible sigh, glancing at the clock. Asriel couldn’t hog all of Will’s attention span. She gave a sharp cough, loud enough that three heads turned to look at her, Will looking concerned, Lyra sceptical and Asriel infuriated, knowing exactly what she was doing. Suppressing a smile, she coughed again.  
“That sounds nasty.” Will commented, looking politely concerned. Stelmaria gave a small growl which only encouraged Marisa more. She frowned.  
“Oh it’s nothing.” She simpered, touching a hand to her chest. “Just a small cough I must have picked up in London from one of the politicians. Perhaps it was Lord Boreal.” She resisted an urge to shoot a dangerous smile at Asriel, knowing he was quietly seething, his disdain for Boreal, who admittedly always leaned in a bit too close when he kissed her goodbye, was widely known in the Belacqula household.  
Will nodded. “It’s here in Oxford too.” Marisa frowned, confused as Will continued looking at Lyra. “One of the Costa boys has it.”  
Marisa’s hand froze in it’s movement to her glass, her eyes narrowing slightly, flitting her gaze between Lyra and Will. Lyra, she noticed looked slightly alarmed. “How do you know that?” Her voice was sweet and sugary, contrasting her bitterly twisting insides.  
“We were visiting Ma Costa and she was treating one of them…” He looked at Lyra for help. “Tony, I think his name is?”  
Her heart dropped, her rage barely containable. He had met Ma Costa? Before he had met her? Her hand reached under the table, grabbing her daemon’s fur in an attempt to control her rage, her fingernails clawing into her own skin. She could practically feel Asriel’s amusement, avenging her Boreal comment. Her eye twitched slightly, yet she managed to compose herself.  
“Yes, dear. Tony Costa.”

**********************************************

She was in for it.  
Lyra was officially in for it.

Her mother was beyond mad. Not that she’d let it show at dinner of course, something which Lyra could at least have been partly grateful for. No, her mother’s mask of pleasantry had hardly slipped, meaning Will had no knowledge of his blunder. After dinner, they’d had a last drink, before Will had left, her mother’s sickly sweet smiles and goodbye partings seemingly authentic. But Lyra knew better. She could smell the falsity a mile off.  
Perhaps she should have warned Will, she reflected, once he had gone and her mother had stormed off into her study with a slam of the door. She had known the way her mother would react if she had found out that Will had met Ma Costa, she’d expected blood and had no doubt that her mother would get it. She was probably upstairs now, calculating the tragic, untimely (yet totally unconnected to Marisa Belacqula) death of Ma Costa, part of the famous Costa gyptians. Lyra could practically hear her mother’s gleeful thoughts about murder and the morbid side of her wondered how she was planning to do it, whilst the rational side of her reminded her that she rather liked Ma Costa and would have preferred not to see her next being carried out of her boat in a body bag.  
It wasn’t that she had really intended Ma Costa to meet Will before her own mother. But it had so happened that said Mother had ditched her for London for three weeks, choosing to leave her alone in a particularly dry spell of Oxford fighting. Jordan College had recently suffered a major military loss to the St Sophia kids and therefore were facing a lack of morale, meaning that everyone was too busy moping around to be of much fun. Hence, Lyra had found herself spending more time with the Gyptians.  
Perhaps it was spite that drove her to “accidentally” let slip to Ma Costa, that she, Lyra Belacula had a boyfriend. Perhaps it was spite that had agreed to invite said boyfriend over to the Costa boat, the very same that she had raided mere years before. But, she wouldn’t have done so if her mother hadn’t bugged off and left her, with nothing to do but to hang with gyptian kids all day long.  
“Still,” Pan reasoned, jumping to her side as she puffed on a cigarette, leaning out of her bedroom window. Mother didn’t approve of her smoking habits and, despite her annoyance remaining, it seemed unwise to push any further. “Mother seems very upset.”  
Lyra contemplated. She did feel sorry, admittedly, that her Mother had found out in such a blatant way. She knew that her mother’s jealousy of Ma Costa ran deep, deeper than squabbles over boys, rooted in her envy for the first couple of weeks of Lyra’s life, whilst Ma Costa had nursed Lyra, whilst her mother stayed in London, still married to Edward Coulter and desperately trying to find a way out of the situation.  
“Fine.” She huffed, shooting Pan a look of disdain. “I’ll apologise. But if she kills me, it’s your fault.”  
Pan leapt off the chair. “I’ll accept full responsibility.” He replied.  
Her mother was easy to find, rearranging the pillows of the downstairs living room, a habit she almost always undertook when she was upset by something (the something being someone and the someone being Lyra or her father). Father had told Lyra at a young age that it was a sign of her mother’s need to control and although she hadn’t understood at the time, she realised now that her mother desired perfection, something which she believed could only be achieved if she was in control. Perhaps that was why her parents' marriage always seemed like a struggle for dominance.  
Mother’s cheeks were stained pink, yet she hadn’t drunk a lot of wine, nor was the fire roaring. Her hair was slightly displaced, yet her dress still remained pinned in place, as though it had slipped off the mannequin and slid right over her shoulders.  
Lyra hesitated in the doorway, suddenly feeling uneasy at the sight of the Golden Monkey, staring at her intently, not displaying any sign of emotion. Years had passed but Pan’s fear of her Mother’s daemon had remained the same, her own understanding of the Monkey to have morphed into a disgruntled toleration from both parties.  
“Errr Mother?” Lyra asked, uncertainly, her eyes not leaving the Monkey’s golden frame.  
Mother glanced up, her facing twisting into a forced smile. “Yes Lyra, my sweet?”  
Darn, she was only ‘my sweet’ when Mother was mad, ‘my love’ when Mother was needy, ‘darling’ in passing and sometimes (though rarely) ‘honey’, when Lyra knew that Mother was truly happy not trying under any pretence to please or impress. ‘My sweet’ was filled with poison, luring one into a full sense of comfort and then striking them when they least expected. Some of Lyra’s darkest memories were entangled with the words ‘my sweet’.  
“Are you alright?”  
Mother went back to fussing over the cushions, slamming one down with immense force near to the Golden Monkey’s perch, causing her daemon to leap up with surprise as Pan held in a chortle. “Why wouldn’t I be alright, sweet?”  
She was being difficult, forcing Lyra to admit she was wrong, as she had done many times before. Lyra glanced at Pan, unimpressed. It was he who had forced her into submission rather than letting her take this as a victory.  
“Well, about what Will said.” She said slowly, trying to think as fast as she could if there was anyway of getting out of this. There wasn't’. “About him meeting Ma Costa.”  
Mother’s head snapped up, her eyes snapped wide for half a second before narrowing at Lyra, her hands slipping into the Golden Monkey’s fur and her knuckles paling white. Father strode into the room, his eyes firmly planted in a book, pen behind his ear and shirt untucked. He glanced up looking slightly jolted by the unspoken tension in the room.  
“I-” He made out before retreating slightly, obviously not wishing to be distracted from his oh so important research. Her mother’s eyes snapped to him.  
“Stay Asriel.” She ordered, her words coming out bitter. He raised an eyebrow as if questioning her authority and her stance loosened slightly, her expression changing from angry to exasperated. “Please.” She almost choked out as if the politeness pained her. She turned her face back to Lyra, who gulped slightly, wishing she was still in her room, cigarette hanging out of her mouth whilst she hung out the window, planning her troops next attack on St Sophia’s.  
“There is nothing to be upset about Lyra.” She cooed, sitting on the sofa and arranging herself in a dignified fashion which somehow made her daughter feel shorter than she actually was. “You wanted Will to meet Ma Costa before me. That’s all there is.”  
Lyra shook her head slowly, senses on alert from traps. “You weren’t here for three weeks, Mother. How was I supposed to introduce Will to a woman who isn’t here?” She felt spite brewing in her belly, confronted with a chance to challenge her Mother’s absence. “Perhaps if you hadn’t have spent the last three weeks with your head in politician’s laps-”  
Marisa let out a strangled cry of “Lyra!” whilst Stelmaria gave an aggressive growl, striding towards Pan with an anger in your eyes.  
“Don’t disrespect your Mother like that.” She barked, yet Pan did not falter, Lyra’s pride growing.  
“I'm sorry.” She conceded, speaking directly to her father, whose anger subsided slightly to amusement, since there was no truth in his daughter’s words. Her mother’s face was still a bright shade of pink, her lip a stern line and anger practically radiating out of her. “What I was trying to say was that perhaps if you hadn't deceived me and returned to Oxford when you promised then we wouldn’t be in this situation.”  
“Oh I’m the problem!” Marisa yelled hotly, all attempts to control her emotion abandoned. “It’s my fault for being a terrible Mother! What it seems like you’re trying to say Lyra is that you wish Ma Costa was your mother!”  
“Maybe I do!”  
Lyra regretted the words as soon as they tumbled from her mouth. Her mother reclined in shock, an expression that rarely featured on her face. Lyra shook her head as Mother sank into the sofa, her hand resuming the gripping position in the Monkey’s fur. Her father coughed subtly, an indication that he did not want to get involved.  
“I didn’t-” Lyra began but Mother cut her off coldly.  
“I think we all understood what you meant Lyra.”  
Lyra looked down at Pan, pleadingly. What do we do now, she thought wildly, racking her brains. You got me into this mess.  
You did this to yourself, Pan thought back, shrugging. The only thing you can do now is grovel.  
Lyra stepped closer to her Mother, wanting her to understand her sincerity.  
“Ma Costa is nice.” She admitted, sitting beside Mother who watched her with cold regard. “She cooks nice meals and she lets me run with Gyptians and get into Mud fights and doesn’t yell too much when I raid her boat with the Jordan lot.” (Hopefully that story would get lost under the sentimentality). “But she’s not you.”  
Mother remained impassive, yet her daemon’s expression softened only slightly. Lyra glanced up at her father for help. He pulled a face, yet chipped in in an attempt to salvage the sinking ship.  
“Lyra acted out of spite.” He offered and Lyra narrowed her eyes at him as Pan grunted in annoyance. Helping did not mean selling his (only, might she add) daughter down the river just to please her Mother. “It was a silly selfish thing to do and I’m sure you regret it don’t you Lyra?”  
Lyra nodded cautiously. She really did regret making her Mother so sad, even if Mother had made her sad in the first place. Not that it was a competition.  
“Yes.” She said stoically and when Marisa didn’t reply she took her hand and hurried on.  
“What can I do to make it up to you?” Mother stirred slightly. Bargaining was always a good thaw tactic when it came to her mother. “I’ll attend that party in London you wanted me to go to next month?” Lyra grimaced inwardly. ‘Party’ and ‘London’ were surprisingly two words which did not mix nicely. Not the type of party her Mother was on about anyway.  
This did however, have the intended effect when Mother glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “Can I dress you?” She smiled slightly, taking Lyra’s hand in her own.  
Hmmmm. This had not been accounted for. Ignoring Pan’s telepathic protestations and Father’s (not) subtle sniggering, she gritted her teeth.  
“Of course.”  
A smile broke out on her Mother’s face. The things she did to keep her parents happy. Still, she relented, later, as she slipped into bed, trying not to think about the noises drifting up from her parents, downstairs in the sitting room, the night could have gone a whole lot worse. No blood was spilt and, in the Belacqula household, she took that as a positive sign.

**Author's Note:**

> Not everything in this fic is perfect, I know and I'm still kind of finding the character's whilst trying to be original! Hopefully it will all improve as the series goes on!


End file.
